


Scientific Methods

by radishface



Series: Scientific Methods [1]
Category: JBJ (Band), K-pop, NU'EST, Produce 101 (TV), Wanna One (Band)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Humor, Canon Compliant, Dialogue Heavy, Drama & Romance, Drama Llama, First Love, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Philosophy, Slow Burn, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-14
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-02 09:26:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12723912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/radishface/pseuds/radishface
Summary: Ong Seongwoo is a pretty smart guy, but he's gone and done the dumbest thing—he's fallen in love at the worst time imaginable. Is it a real thing—or just an illusion? Does finding out the answer make his life easier?Apparently "OngNiel is Science." But can scientific methods prove anything in the realm of feelings?Complete.





	1. An Idea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> OngNiel is Science. But can it prove what’s real?

Of course, it all started when you did something to make everyone laugh. You can’t remember what your joke was, but it was probably something hilarious.

 

All you remember is the look on Kang Daniel’s face when he laughed. Daniel is a happy guy—one doesn’t find him without a grin plastered on his face most of the time—but when he laughs in earnest? Oh god. It’s just, well. You know.

 

Well, you got to know it that day.

 

You cracked a joke, Daniel laughed from across the room, and your heart froze and re-started again with painful clarity. You were halfway aware that your joke had stopped halfway through, that your face had gone slack, that your mouth was open, and that this sudden interruption in your regular programming was just making everyone laugh harder.

 

They thought it was part of the gag. But no. This was the Real Thing. Lightning from heaven and everything.

 

Daniel laughed, looking around the room with that disbelieving, beatific wide-toothed grin, that _guys, guys, can you believe this_ incredulity crammed in a charmingly downcast squint, and he was looking at you and his joy was radiating around the room from under that pink mop.

 

Wow.

 

Okay. Regroup. No overthinking this. It was just a person. Kang Daniel, with his ridiculous bunny toothed-smile that stretches ear to ear — as if. As if this was actually happening.

 

You’re floored. And a small, wise part of you says:

 

It’s over.

 

 

 


	2. Another Idea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Falling in love would be so inconvenient right now.

Falling in love isn’t a straight thing or a gay thing. You can fall in love with an inanimate object as easily as a live one. You know this because once, you had fallen in love with a strawberry macaron when your high school girlfriend took you to a French cafe at the end of your second year to celebrate you getting straight _A_ s on your report card.

 

The days go by. You make jokes when Daniel is around. You make jokes at Daniel’s expense. You make a fool of yourself in front of him to see him smile. He likes you and you like him. It’s magic. Ong, he calls you most of the time, and it makes you feel all puffed up when he does. Ongi, he calls you when he likes you more. You can feel yourself hanging off his every move. The way he dances. The way he walks. The way his legs look in his pants. Sometimes it gets a bit stupid, how much you hang off his every move.

 

But sometimes you can feel him hanging off your every move, and that makes it nice.

 

Is this the Real Thing?

 

Him looking at you every now and then makes it all a bit more bearable and unbearable at the same time. For different reasons.

 

You’re not hoping for too much. It’s a reality TV show. It’s entertainment. It could be Not Real, because things in this world aren’t real. The beautiful things are especially unreal and prone to fluctuation and bouts of flakiness. And all of this might be over at the end of next month. Well, it’s unlikely, but there’s always the off chance that Hyunbin climbs up in the ranks and kicks you down into the thirties. You never know, in these situations.

 

You’re not hoping for too much. The cameras are in your face and his face and everyone’s face all the time. You’re aware that you’re “on” even when you don’t feel like it. You feel the camera bringing out every side of you even when you don’t want them to. You’re so tired most days. The show must go on, but you’re so tired.

 

It’s the sixth hour into your “Never” practice. You’re outside right now, your back pressed against the glass door as you gulp down another energy drink. You close your eyes and you can still Daniel practicing behind the swirling black of your eyelids. What’s happening to you? It’s the stress. It’s this strange place that exists in between reality and fantasy. You were just a trainee. Now you’re Fantagio’s Ong Seongwoo, a rank-carrying, A- _ban_ , singing, dancing monkey dependent on the will of millions of girls and guys who may or may not be in love with you even though there’s only less than 15 hours of you on the Internet. It’s a really strange world right now and you don’t know how you got caught up in all this anyway.

 

A hand on your shoulder and your eyes snap open. It’s Daniel. Slightly sweaty. You can smell his soap and sweat. He’s just come out of the “Open Up” practice room, probably taking a break too.

 

There’s your camera smile and then there’s your real smile. Your real smile is a small one. You feel weak. Your lips tremble. It’s because you’re tired. You’ve slept all of 8 hours in the last three days. You want all of it with a ferocity that only grows with each day that passes. The chance to perform, the possibility of a debut, the photoshoots, the interviews, the variety show circuit, the concerts, the screams for your encore—and—and—you want what you want.

 

“Ongi,” Daniel says in that soft, husky voice. His hair is blonde now, and looks a lot better even if the pink was cute. His thumb strokes over your collarbone, but you’re not hoping for too much.

 

The chance to perform. The possibility of a debut. The photoshoots. The interviews. The variety show circuit. The concerts. The screams for your encore. Daniel. The desire grows each day. Today, it’s scaring you.

 

“You good?”

 

A million jokes flutter through your brain but you don’t want to. A sudden rebelliousness sets in and more than anything, you just want to tell Daniel that no, you just want to sleep. You want this moment, his hand on your shoulder, anchoring you, pinning you against the mirror, to last forever and at the same time you want this all to be over.

 

And you’re just, maybe, a little bit, the tiniest bit, ever so slightly furious with him because God help you, you just can’t afford to fall in love right now.

 

There’s no way the timing is good. Or the optics. It wouldn’t be good for your career and it wouldn’t be good for your ego, either. If you fell in love with Daniel that would make you just another one of the millions of girls who have cast their votes for the King. For the sake of your pride, you really don’t want to be just another one of the millions, and you don’t want your career to suffer, and you don’t want to have to deal with the consequences of, well, what would happen if Daniel actually felt the same way about you.

 

“It’s okay,” Daniel says, and for a freaky second you actually think he’s read your mind. You blink the tears of frustration out of your eyes, and shoot him a look that’s somewhere between cross and playful.

 

Daniel’s hand squeezes your shoulder, encouraging. “You’re going to be fine.”

 

“The king’s word is the law,” you quip, but it comes out heavier than you mean it to. Daniel’s not fazed.

 

“Come on.” He takes your hand and stands you up. He’s markedly stronger than you, and that fact thrills you to the bone. “Let’s get some water.”

 

He leads you into one of the vocal practice rooms and closes the door behind you. You fall against the wall, fingernails scraping down the soundproof lining as you sigh and collapse onto the floor.

 

“You can relax,” Daniel says, and sits down next to you. “No cameras here.”

 

“No water, either,” you retort.

 

“I needed to bait you with something,” Daniel laughs.

 

He’s cute. And he knows it. But all you can muster up is another weak smile. The world of dance and music and everything else feel another galaxy away. All you can hear is the sound of your own breath coming ragged out of your lungs.

 

“Niel,” you say. Your heart is racing. “I know you were the one who baited me here. But it’s actually me who needs to tell you something.”

 

Daniel’s voice is soft. “Then I guess I found you at the right time.”

 

The silence in a soundproof room is the kind that accompanies the end of the world. Your eyes haven’t adjusted to the darkness of the practice room, but you can feel Daniel’s body next to yours as strongly and surely as a moth might feel the glow of a light.

 

“Let’s make a bet,” you say.

 

“Sure,” says Daniel.

 

“If your team wins—then I’ll tell you what I need to tell you.”

 

Daniel _hmms_. “And if your team wins?”

 

“Then _I’ll be going on my way_ ,” you sing-song.

 

Daniel’s hand finds your hand and his lips find your ear and he whispers,

 

“Get ready to open up, kid.”

 

You both collapse in peals of laughter, gasping for breath as you try to sit up, only to fall down again. Your head falls into Daniel’s lap and his hand falls on your belly and you’re smiling stupidly at each other, silly with exhaustion and dangerous feelings. That’s how Jonghyun and Dongho find you moments later when they bang on the door.

 

You jump up and raise your fists and tell them that they have no honor in intruding on such proceedings. You challenge them to a duel at midnight to restore Daniel’s maiden honor.

 

“We’ll still be practicing at midnight if you insist on running away again,” Jonghyun sighs. “Let’s go, Romeo.”

  


 


	3. Questioning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s not actually Ong’s birthday, but Daniel needs some reason to finish this bottle of soju.

 

 

The flush starts on Ong’s neck.

 

It began as a thumbprint-sized pink mark, just below and to the right of the hollow of his throat. If you weren’t looking for it you might not see it. But the soju had made it hard not to look. It had made the flush crawl and spread into something a little bigger. Pinker. Slightly heart-shaped, if you tilted your head. Difficult to ignore.

 

Daniel has been fixated on that flush since it appeared.

 

Ong left his shoes by the door when he came in. Once Ong was properly seated, Daniel revealed the bottle of soju and flashed a grin. The look Ong gave Daniel was skeptical.

 

“It’s not even my birthday,” he’d said, in mock outrage. “Are you trying to get us kicked out?”

 

Daniel shook his head, smiling, “We won’t.”

 

Ong touched his pinky finger to the tip of his nose, expression stern. And Daniel suddenly saw him as a dirt-smeared ten year-old boy, mischief in his eyes as they dreamed up ways to get in trouble. _Promise?_

 

Daniel couldn’t keep the grin off his face. He returned the gesture, lightly pressing his little finger to his nose, and Ong’s grin lit up the room.

 

They hitched pinkies and shook. Then Ong untwisted the cap on the soju, and they were off.

 

It was a rare weekend without activities. This weekend they weren’t filming; there wasn’t even any practice scheduled. There weren’t even many of them left; following the second elimination, they were down to thirty-five members. Most of the other trainees had chosen to go home for the weekend, and a few had decided to bunk in other rooms to hang out with friends. Daniel had suddenly found himself in the delightful situation of zero roommates for 48 hours.

 

He’d texted Ong. _What are you doing this weekend_?

 

The reply came: _Attending to filial duties._

 

_How’s your mom?_

 

_She pines for her only son._

 

_So what have you planned?_

 

_I will listen to her speak to me about the right way to live my life, elude questions about when I plan to settle down, all while affecting the most filial expressions of sincerity. Etc._

 

_I’ve got a bottle of soju. It’s got your name on it._

 

_Oh?_

 

_And everyone in the room has left for the weekend._

 

_Oh?_

 

_And the cameras are off._

 

The reply took a moment to come. _Who do you think you are?_

 

_I asked one of the staff if they wouldn’t mind doing me a favor in return for one later._

 

_Does this favor, by any chance, involve the transmission of bodily fluids?_

 

_What?_

 

_I see. Well, it seems that my mother has suddenly booked a flight to Jeju for the weekend. So I have a rare vacancy in my schedule._

 

Daniel grins. _See you tonight._

 

_Likewise, sir._

 

Now Daniel is sitting on the edge of his bed, passing the bottle of soju from one hand to the other. He is thinking about Ong’s real birthday. Thinking about what he’d want to get him. Does Ong even like gifts? Maybe they could drive somewhere instead. Being in a car would be fun. Daniel would make sure it was one that looked neat. It couldn’t be too obvious. But it needed to be cool enough. He imagined pulling up in Ong’s driveway. Ong would have a great reaction, for sure.

 

“What’s on your mind, loverboy?”

 

Ong is sprawled out on the bed, but when he speaks, his words are clear. His tolerance for alcohol is actually quite admirable—a result of tedious dinners with his chaebol father and his socialite mother, he explained. Ong sits up and joins Daniel at the edge of the bed now, his hair mussed and face rosy.

 

Daniel tries not to look and deflects the question. “Happy birthday.”

 

Ong wrinkles his nose. “Yes. A full day of celebrations followed by a delightful dinner with my father and esteemed guests.”

 

Daniel quirks an eyebrow.

 

“Future wives,” Ong says.

 

Ong says it like he has a bad taste in his mouth, and he pulls the wine bottle from his hands. Daniel watches him as he tilts it up to drain the very last dregs from the bottom. It’s difficult to imagine Ong as a married man. He’ll always be a kid to Daniel.

 

… especially, when his hair is disheveled and his cheeks are pink and he has that heart-shaped flush on his neck and his tongue darts out to lick away a stray drop of soju—

 

“Do you think you’ll get married?” Ong asks.

 

Daniel mulls over the question. He takes the empty bottle back from Ong and sets it on the floor, shrugging. “I don’t know.”

 

“Don’t you want to?”

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“Really? Even after your army service turns you super buff and your fame catapults you to the stars? You’ll have the phone number of every fair maiden in this land and then some.”

 

Daniel shrugs again. He hasn’t really given marriage much thought. He always figured he’d live out his days dancing and singing and going wherever his agency wanted him to go. Marriage had never quite factored into the equation.

 

“You’ll be in the top seat soon,” Ong says suddenly, pulling him from his inebriate thoughts.

 

Daniel gives his a look. “Soon?”

 

“You will. Trust me. You’ll be so important and busy.” Ong pokes Daniel’s shoulder and bats his eyelashes. “I hope you’ll still have time for just me.”

 

Daniel doesn’t say anything, just gives Ong a smile and touches his pinky to the tip of his nose. Ong beams.

 

“You’ll have to stop wearing this, though,” Ong quips, and playfully bats the brim of Daniel’s baseball cap like a kitten.

 

He swats Ong away, grinning. “I like my hat.”

 

“I like it too!” Ong says. “But you’ll be center—” his hand darts out in an attempt to snatch the hat off his head, but Daniel deflects him easily— “and you need to be a role model—” Ong goes for it again, only for Daniel to catching his arm— “for the adoring masses.”

 

Ong makes one last attempt, reaching out with his other hand, but Daniel grabs that wrist too. Ong struggles fruitlessly against his grip for a moment before giving up. “Stupid,” Ong says again, and huffs theatrically.

 

It isn’t until Daniel feels that breath on his face that he realizes exactly how close they are. Close enough that Daniel can almost feel the heat of Ong’s flush. Close enough that he can see how deep set his eyes are. Close enough to count the constellation of freckles on his cheek.

 

When Ong lowers his gaze, that heart-shaped flush is still there on his neck, close enough that Daniel can see how the edges are jagged and blurred. Close enough to touch.

 

“Niel,” Ong says, and when their eyes meet again it drives all the breath from Daniel’s lungs.

 

Daniel can’t move. He doesn’t want to. He counts Ong’s freckles. One, two, three. 

 

Ong tilts his head and leans forward. It’s almost nothing. Just a puff of breath on his lips, but Daniel feels it everywhere. He had a hold on Ong’s wrists but now he’s let go and now their fingers are touching on the bedspread. Ong exhales slowly against Daniel’s mouth. Intentional. Decisive.

 

Daniel can’t move. Their breath mingles together, very deliberate, very controlled. The air smells like soju. He can barely hear over his heartbeat pounding but neither of them move. Ong’s eyes are deep and black. This is a different kind of intensity altogether. Daniel realizes he’s seen it before. Actually, Ong looks at him like this a lot. Why didn’t he notice it before?

 

Daniel feels something slip from his head.

 

Ong draws back, Daniel’s hat clasped in his fingers. His other hand runs through Daniel’s hair, tousling it. “Thank you for your cooperation,” Ong whispers. “Now you’re a proper center.”

 

The sudden noise of a fire alarm blaring through the room drives them apart. Daniel bumps his head against the top bunk and falls back, dazed.

 

Ong jumps forward snatches the bottle of soju off the floor, stuffing it down his pants. “This is the real thing.”

 

Daniel is still seeing stars from bumping his head. The fire alarm is full blast.  The sight of a huge, bottle-shaped bulge in the front of Ong’s trackpants is out of this world. “Ongi, what the hell are you doing?”

 

Ong shoots him a look that is playful, mollified, and disdainful all at once. “One. If this _is_ a real fire drill, we need to get rid of this before they see it. Two—even if we’re caught on camera, there is no way that Mnet will air any footage of me with this thing in my pants. And three, if I didn’t have this thing in my pants, it may lead to a misunderstanding.”

 

“What misunderstanding?” Daniel asks, the same time that he realizes what it is. “Ongi,” he says, breath caught in his throat. He wants to laugh, because it's funny, because the whole thing is funny, because Ong is funny. Ong is so quick. Too quick for him. Daniel can't keep up. But part of him wants to say something before this slips away.

 

“That's my bottle,” Daniel says.

 

“ _Sorry sorry sorry sorry,_ ” Ong sing-songs, already halfway out the door, pants jangling. “I guess you should have been better prepared!”

 

The fire alarm stops ringing by the time Daniel hurries outside. There’s a small crowd of them gathered outside the dormitories.

 

After some asking around, it turns out that Yongguk’s quest for a midnight snack was the reason behind the fire alarm. In a bid to make stir fry, Yongguk added too much oil to the wok, the oil had caught fire, and then the stack of paper towels next to the stove had caught fire, and a bid to fan out the fire had only created more smoke. So here they all are now, with Yongguk looking sorrier than ever as he apologizes profusely to everyone.

 

The night guard comes out of the building minutes later and tells everyone it’s safe to go back inside. Ong comes up behind Daniel and loops his arm around Daniel’s neck.

 

“You made it out alive.”

 

“You did too.” Daniel casts and eye sideways at Ong's pants, looking for the bottle.

 

Ong covers himself with his free hand. “Please, Niel. My modesty.”

 

“Oh, did you leave it behind in the fire?”

 

Ong sticks his tongue out. Daniel is caught by that flash of pink. “Hey,” he says.

 

Under the light of the street lamp, the shadows on Ong’s face make his expression inscrutable. Dark eyes, glistening lips, that's what Daniel sees. He wants to say something. But their bottle of soju is gone. There was still some left, too. And it wasn't even a real fire. The brisk cold of the winter night has cut through his buzz. Daniel feels bare. He wants to say something to Ong. It feels important to. But he doesn’t how to say it.

 

“Poor Yongguk,” Ong murmurs, releasing Daniel from the hook of his arm. The corner of his lip curls up. “What do you think is left of his chop suey disaster?”

 

Daniel shakes his head. He doesn’t know.

 

“Shall we go salvage what's left?” Ong's voice is soothing. It has that same sound as when he’s singing. “We should get there before the others. I bet everyone has the same idea.”

 

Daniel grins. It's easy to think about food. It’s way easier to think about food than anything else.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear reader! Thank you for giving my story a chance. This is my first foray into the world of OngNiel and P101, so I'm especially grateful for your time. I welcome all feedback, especially where it relates to characterisation, tone, and pacing. 
> 
> Bookmark this story to stay up to date on new chapters.


	4. Hypothesis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You’re a showman, responding to every context, every input, sensitive to your surroundings beyond belief. But if you’re a hyperactive element that sets off at first contact, that must make Niel a noble gas. No wonder they call him King.

 

 

 

It’s 2am. Early bedtime, all things considered. Some of the guys are still up in your room. You’re doodling away at your Mnet-provided trainee journal. With your right brain, you’re writing something sappy that they can use for broadcast later. Your left brain, in the meantime, is embarking on a voyage of discovery.

 

So, how would it happen?

 

 _Option one_. After five minutes of excruciating silence at the podium, Boa reveals that “Never” Team wins (as it should), and that Ong Seongwoo has garnered the most votes and is now center of the final group forever.

 

So. “Never” Team has placed first. Cheers will erupt. Dongho will look alternatingly bitter and happy. Kenta’s face will be grey. And Daniel will turn around and be happy for you. He’ll be clapping and grinning and generally just so happy for you because let’s face it, you’re still good friends even through this competitive seduction playacting thing that’s suddenly hit your relationship like a strong gust of wind on the side of a sailboat.

 

You close your eyes, convulsed by a sudden realization: Niel doesn’t show any other expressions other than “sexy” and “outrageously happy.” That’s why he’s on top of this whole Produce 101 gambit. That’s it. Niel is a fucking adorable one-trick pony and the human equivalent of an endless supply of MDMA. Daniel is reliable and stable and happy and the nation loves him because he makes them sane.

 

There. You’ve said it. Bring on the hate mail.

 

Daniel must have grown up well. His mom must love him without being overly attached. His dad must be involved just enough. Nobody died in a strange or off-putting way during Niel’s formative childhood years. The most trauma he had was being bullied at school for looking like an awkward teenager, but who hasn’t experienced that? Niel grew up lower middle class, with low expectations of life. Like, if he dropped out of the rankings tomorrow he’d be bummed, but he’d get on with it.

 

Ugh. If you dropped out of the rankings tomorrow, you would be pretty devastated. You might not go full Daehwi-level suicidal princess of angst, but you’ll have a chip on your shoulder for a good while.

 

Dear God. You hope you can win a spot in the final 11 and keep your innocence intact. You need that for this whole thing to work. Or at least, at least hopefully you won’t suffer any major tragedies until you’re in your late twenties. Small tragedies are fine.

 

Niel is so different, not just from you, but from 90% of all the other queens of angst on this show. Niel is weirdly well-adjusted in a fucked up industry, and that’s probably why you’re so deeply drawn to one another. You’re a little bit wrong in the head. That’s why Niel, with his deeply boring inner life that’s 100% sunshine and ponies, likes you. Niel doesn’t understand it, but you’re the one who connects him to a greater intensity of life. He might be a one-trick pony right now, but he’s thirsty to learn a few more tricks. And boy howdy, you’ve seen the pony learn.

 

Fuck fuck fuck. You realize something. Niel, the nation’s gummy ball of sunshine, wants you to cut through it and expose his core. He’s trusting you with this. He invited you over for soju and tried to get you drunk. He wanted you to do something. He’s interested. Okay. So maybe that’s what your mission in life is. To teach a one-trick pony a few tricks. Show him what’s possible. Ideally, without causing yourself any major PTSD in the process.

 

And if you don’t seduce him properly, you’re the one who’s really fucked. Because here’s the thing for Niel, this might just be an Interesting Thing, but not the Real Thing. He’s probably just playing around. Ong Seongwoo is a great guy and a funny guy but Ong Seongwoo might also just be a curiosity. Ong Seongwoo might only be Kang Daniel’s best friend as long as he’s good for shits and giggles.

 

If you don’t completely get in Daniel’s head properly, you’re the one who’s going to be hurt. Because you’re the one who actually loves him.

 

_Ah._

 

An exquisite pain blooms from your heart. It radiates out of your chest and fills your limbs with a sweet-and-sour ache.

 

Deep breath. It’s fine. Enjoy it. You can handle love. Close your eyes and let it run through you.

 

Deep breath. It would be nice if he were here. _Ongi. You asleep yet?_

 

Deep breath. _Ongi, you don’t have to be funny all the time._

 

Deep breath. _Relax, Ongi. I like you because you’re you._

 

Before your heart explodes, you take another deep breath. Okay. Work through this slowly. You have a few thought experiments to complete and it pays to be methodical. This is what your therapist taught you when your dad threw the 18th century Louis XVIII ottoman at the window when he found out that your mom was having an affair and you thought that all of you were going to die that night.

 

In times of emotional extremity, just go slow and think it through. It’ll never be as bad—or as good—as you think it will go. Being rational has never made falling in love any easier, but it’s the least you can do for yourself.  

 

So. _Option one_ —

 

After winning _Never_ , you go out and celebrate with the team. You’ll all try to get Jonghyun and Minhyun drunk at the buldak joint around the corner but of course they’ll be far too responsible and Jaehwannie will take most of the soju instead. Flush with drunk feeling, he’ll start belting out songs or just straight up start screeching. Daehwi might even loosen up and join in on the noise, given they’ll finally be away from the cameras and Daehwi has been so fucking repressed lately it even makes Ong hurt.

 

Niel might want to meet up later, but likely he’ll be hanging out with the _Open Up_ team.

 

And then—you’ll keep your promise and _go on your way_.

 

You’ve successfully eliminated your Feelings for people before, though they never got _this_ far. And those feelings were never incubated in such intense environments. So you anticipate that eradicating your feelings for Daniel will be more difficult—but not impossible.

 

It’ll start with a regimen of Not Hanging Out with Daniel as much. You’ll have to find another buddy to occupy the time. Seonho might be interested in being your lackey, if you can tear him away from Minhyun. Seonho would also be a good fit 1) he’s in a good rank, so it won’t hurt your ratings, and 2) he’s the Kid.

 

You’ll have to start finding flaws in Daniel’s character. Scrutinizing everything about him. Becoming a little critical, a little dismissive. It’s going to harsh the mellow of your relationship, but some things have to be stressed in order to change. Only after this period of actively reframing can you get enough distance to look at the relationship in a different way, coming to rest as another travel-weary survivor in the bittersweet, heavy-hearted DMZ that is the Friend Zone.

 

Except.

 

Daniel might not get the hint. Peachly puppy that he is, he’ll probably come crawling back twice as hard when he catches a whiff of the boot he’s been given.

 

Wait. Realization: if you start ignoring Daniel, he’ll likely be more interested in you and whatever it was that you had to say.

 

Okay, let’s get the facts straight.

 

Fact: Daniel is remarkably persistent and optimistic.

Fact: You’ve intrigued him with your big potential reveal.

Fact: Daniel loves it when noonas play hard to get.

 

So basically, if “Never” team wins, it’ll force your haughty noona hand. That’ll drive Daniel insane.

 

One or two weeks of dramatic sexual tension later, Daniel will have broken your will to resist and there will be a confession of feelings accompanied by some heavy breathing. If Daniel’s breath doesn’t smell like fish, you might even kiss him.   

 

_Option two—_

 

 _Open Up_ team wins. Celebrations are planned. The 1-2 Punch Donkey Kang combo and rest of the team go out for hotpot.

 

While they’re out, you’ll send for your dad’s entry-level Mercedes C300. You’ll make Uncle Butler vacate said car and walk back empty-handed to the Ong family estate. Sorry, Uncle Butler.

 

Around midnight, _Open Up_ team will return to the dorms. You will send a text to Daniel instructing him to meet you at the parking lot behind Studio C.

 

Daniel will arrive at your dad’s Mercedes C300 under the cover of nightfall. You will hold the door open for him.

 

 _But the seats are so warm?!_ Daniel will splutter in delight.

 

 _Yes, Niel. I took the personal liberty of making things more comfortable for you before you arrived_.

 

You’ll drive the both of you to one of those remote highway turnoffs that overlook Seoul. You’ll start off the playlist with some classic American rock. Then some EDM. Which eventually becomes The Weeknd. The mood will be dark, sexy, and pulsating. That kind of lonely, humid, heavy, 4am feeling. Except it’s not lonely, because you’re both there.

 

Nice.

 

Your one hand is on the wheel and the other’s on the stick. Nevermind that the C300 is an auto. It looks cooler this way, and if there’s anything that gets through Niel’s thick head, it’s the visual.

 

Ah, important: you will be navigating this route from memory like an old school, route-memorizing badass, because Google Maps Lady would totally ruin the mood.

 

You will arrive at said remote highway turnoff after an hour or two of driving and admire the skyline while leaning against the hood of the C300. The rising sun will bathe Seoul in a wash of hazy pink and lavender. Giddy with exhaustion and good vibes on your gay trainee version of the classic K-celeb car date, you will both look at each other. Your eyes will drift down to his lips and his eyes, to yours. And then—

 

You’ll be nervous. Even though you prepared everything, you’ll still be nervous. Your heart on a stick, you’ll say, _Hey, Niel._

 

He’ll look at you. He might have a heavy-lidded gaze, expectant. Or maybe he’ll look scared, but hopeful.  

 

_I think it’s time for me to say that thing that I was supposed to say._

 

You will pause here for a really long time. To build suspense. To gather your courage.

 

_But I’m not going to tell you._

 

Daniel might look surprised. The faintest edge of disappointment might creep into his face.

 

This is when you’ll move in closer to him and put your hand on his neck. He’ll be caught. His breath will hitch in his throat that way. You’ll run your thumb over his pulse and find it jumping. And you’ll finish what you were about to say.

 

_I’m going to show you._

 

And then, if Daniel’s breath doesn’t smell like fish, you might kiss him.

 

You sigh in awe. Whoa. That’s good. That’s actually pretty good.

 

Okay. Option three—

 

“It’s late, Seongwoo.” Jonghyun says sleepily from across the room. “Go to sleep.”

 

“Almost there,” you say, and take your pen to your trainee journal.

 

 _Dear our Lord up in Heaven_ , you write.

 

_Hi it’s me, your humble servant. So, now You have heard my three proposals. Let Thy Will be done._

 

_Thanks,_

_Ong Seongwoo (not Hong Seongwoo)_

 

 

 


	5. Experiment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ong steps out of his comfort zone.

Hello. This is Pledis Group’s Hwang Minhyun, and the unofficial visual center of Produce 101 (for songs that call for a sleek and polished look). Today is Tuesday, so the cafeteria is serving tteokboki for lunch.

 

It is somewhat hard to eat lunch in peace because I know what happens after lunch: Yoo Seonho finds me.

 

I like the kid, but he is heavy. He is even heavier after lunch. This is the main reason why my back has been growing sore over the last few months—it is not because of the mattresses. It is because Seonho insists on being carried.

 

Oh well, at least he makes it easy to be carried. If I had to carry someone light, like Lee Daehwi, he might squirm and it would be difficult. At least Seonho is very pliant because he wants to be carried by me. Lee Daehwi doesn’t want me to carry him. Actually, I think everyone knows who Daehwi would like to be carried by.

 

Hint: he has big arms, and sings very well.

 

Hahaha!

 

(To be honest, I feel a bit sorry for Daehwi. He is very ambitious but he still shows his feelings a lot and he gets frustrated by his inability to hide them. Maybe this is an American culture thing? But Samuel has more control than Lee Daehwi. So maybe it’s not an American thing.)

 

Today after lunch, I had an unexpected savior. As usual, Seonho had found me. My back was hurting a bit from sleeping in a strange position last night, so I even sat next to Dongho to try and hide myself. But it’s as if Seonho wears Minhyun-seeking heat goggles. He can find me anywhere.

 

Thankfully, Ong Seongwoo came to my rescue right as Seonho was pulling up at my seat. Seongwoo has a way of appearing and disappearing without notice, and in this case he appeared very suddenly.

 

“Minhyun,” Seongwoo said. “I have a favor to ask of you.”

 

At this point I had not realized yet that Seongwoo was rescuing me, so I prepared myself. Seongwoo is a bit shorter than Seonho, so he should be lighter.

 

“Minhyun, please come with me. My favor is around the corner. Sorry, Seonho, but I’ll need your trusty steed for the rest of the afternoon.”

 

Seonho walked away with a wounded expression on his face. But Seonho is indefatigable and relentless, so I knew he would return later.

 

Not quite knowing what to expect, I followed Seongwoo around the corner to the hallway. And then outside. And then around the corner of the building.

 

“Seongwoo,” I said. “Where are we going?”

 

I wondered if Seongwoo was planning to murder me. But that would be ridiculous. I breathed a sigh of relief.

 

“Minhyun,” he said. “I’m actually really, really, really—”

 

I waited.

 

“Really, really, really, really.”

 

Yes?

 

“Really, really. Kind of.”

 

With every “really,” his breath puffed out in a little cloud ahead of him. It was cute, but I wondered where he was going with this.

 

“Wait. Not 'kind of.' I’m really, really—”

 

“Ong Seongwoo, I feel like you are trying to tell me something.”

 

He sat down on the curb and put his hands in his face, laughing. “Yes. Yeah, that’s right.” I sat down next to him.

 

We were far away from the studio now. Our next practice session was in twenty-three minutes and it would take us at least seven minutes to walk back to the rooms. I hoped that he didn’t want to walk any further than this. The curb was not a nice place to sit. It was cold. And probably hadn’t been scrubbed in a long time.

 

Ong took a breath. “Minhyun. You’ve been in the business for a while.”

 

“Yes.” I waited.

 

“Conditions are extreme in the world of entertainment. Feelings can run high sometimes. When things don’t go your way. Or even when they do.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“I was watching this TED talk earlier today. Do you know about TED talks?”

 

There are a few Koreans who have done TED Talks, but I have not seen many. “TED Talks? You’re so smart, Seongwoo.”

 

“The TED Talk I watched was about—” he chuckles here. “Opening up.”

 

That’s interesting. I wondered if the final eleven would ever conduct an international tour. Hm, maybe. BTS had already gone on to win awards in the American music industry. The first for a Korean group.

 

“Oh,” I realized. “Not the song, _Open Up_.”

 

“No, no,” Seongwoo shook his head. “Opening up as in — vulnerability. Emotional intelligence. Sharing your experiences with other people very honestly.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“So, I decided I needed to tell someone something real. Part of this whole Produce 101 exercise is to discover who we are, right?”

 

I became alarmed. “Seongwoo, are you in love with me?”

 

“No, Minhyun.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “I’m trying to ask you for advice.”

 

“Oh, yes. Then please. Please go ahead.”

 

Seongwoo takes a breath and starts again. “So, in the entertainment industry, emotions can run high. Stakes are very high. There are so many talented, beautiful people. Everyone is singing about love and longing and their feelings. Basically. And to succeed, you don’t just need a good vocal range and a nice tone and to be handsome or beautiful, but you need to carry yourself well. And you need to work hard, harder than you’ve ever worked at anything in your life. And when you sing and dance, you need to bring your feelings into it for it to be sincere. There needs to be a very thorough, clean channel between the self that you are and the self that you show the rest of the world.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“So my question, is, Minhyun, how do you know what’s your real self and what’s not?”

 

This was an interesting question. I could feel myself losing interest in how cold it was on the curb.

 

“In my experience, the barrier between the inner self and the outer self are very permeable if one chooses to be an artist. Of course, the extent of that permeability is limited by your personality. It is also externally limited by the type of artist you are. But as artists, we are responsible for bringing the inside to the outside. And we are supposed to absorb the outside very well, and process it within, to create something new inside. And this exchange continues on and on.

 

“It is a very painful process. This is something I didn’t expect when I had joined Nu’est. When things don’t go your way, it is even more painful to take the outside inside yourself, and change it into something new. So sometimes, people will create walls around themselves. They will separate the inside and the outside. But this doesn’t make a good artist. I think this is when you see that things become fake. The outside and inside don’t match.

 

“Many people think that the outside is what is fake and the inside is what is real. But that’s not quite true, either. The world outside is real, and the world inside is real. I believe things are the most real when there is a steady flow between the inside and outside. And the way that in-between space is constructed, is different for each person.

 

“Some people build bridges, which seem more decorative than practical. Some others carve out canyons with brute force, and the information flows through it like a wild river. And then there are still others who build walls with strong border protection force, and only let in one visitor at a time.”

 

“Wow, Minhyun,” Ong’s breath was a big cloud in front of his face and his eyes were wide. “You’re so wise.”

 

“Please don’t tell anyone,” I said. But I was very warmed by his words.  

 

“I have another question.”

 

It was almost time. I wanted to wrap things up for Seongwoo, who was listening very well. “I will answer it the best I can. But after this, we have to return to the studio.”

 

“I know, I know.” Seongwoo sighed, and rubbed his hands together quickly, staving off the cold. “It’s just—ah.” He laughed, despair creeping into his voice. “I don’t even know how to word this. I can’t be direct. It would kill me. It would literally kill me.”

 

My throat felt tight. I knew then why he came to me, and not Jisung or Jonghyun or anyone else. I knew the color of his question, even if I didn’t know how he would ask it.

 

We all carry secrets. And in this world, where inside becomes outside and your success lies in how well you can balance this exchange, if you are not careful, you will end up letting in the worst of it. And if you are not sure of yourself, you will be lost in its throes.

 

Seongwoo’s secret had found its way to me.

 

“I don’t have the answer to this question,” I said, choosing my words carefully. “But I know you’re not the first one to feel this way. In our line of work, it happens all the time.”

 

His face was awash with a mix of pain and relief. “Ah,” he said, and closed his eyes.  

 

I stood up. The sky was very blue today. It was the kind of crisp winter day that bore flashes of warmth. My voice felt so far away, but there it was, speaking still.

 

“If you find out the answer before me, then please let me know what it is. I have the same question, too.”

 

Then we went back to the studio.

 

Tomorrow is another day. It will be Wednesday, which means the cafeteria will serve japchae for lunch.

 

Anyways, this has been Pledis Group’s Hwang Minhyun. I have absorbed Ong Seongwoo’s secret and it is my responsibility to transform it well.

 

Fighting!

 


	6. Analysis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daniel tries his best to give a straight answer.

Daniel and Seongwoo have not been behaving normally since the _Open Up_ team won. It’s totally obvious. I need to get to bottom of this.

 

I’ve known Daniel a long time. I know when he’s off. Actually, if you even know Daniel for a little bit, you’ll know when he’s comfortable and when he’s not. The problem with Daniel is that he’s so happy go-lucky and so stable that most people tend to assume that he’s that way all the time. And then you have the people who project their own desires onto Daniel, because he comes across as a bit of a blank slate.

 

But contrary to public opinion, Daniel is not just some big, friendly, bubblehead for whom life is a breeze. That’s Hyunbin. (I don’t mean this in a bad way.) Although getting Daniel to open up is a bit like trying to get Hyunbinnie to sing. (Again, no harm intended.)

 

Something’s been bugging Daniel. And I hate seeing my chicks unhappy.

 

________________________

 

The interviews and public speaking opportunities that are part of Produce 101 have forced Daniel to cultivate his vocabulary and speak his mind. He’s better at communicating, but he could still be way better.

 

Like now. Daniel’s face is folding in on itself with confusion.

 

“Nothing’s wrong.”

 

“But you’ve been weird.”

 

“Well, you’re asking some weird questions.”

 

“I’m not.”

 

“You are.”

 

“No way.”

 

“They’re weird.”

 

“Okay, maybe they’re a little bit weird.”

 

“Ha!” Daniel slaps his knee. “So you admit it!”

 

“Yes, I do.” I hang my head and then point at him. “But you still have to answer my questions even if they’re weird. What’s been going on with you and Seongwoo lately?”

 

Daniel’s face crunches in on itself again. It’s like watching his forehead do a situp to his chin.

 

“I don’t know.”

 

“Did you say something to make him mad?”

 

“Ongi isn’t like that.”

 

That’s rich. Seongwoo has high expectations of the world. People who have high expectations are bound to be some of the angriest people you’ll meet. But Seongwoo is a smart cookie. Before he lets himself express anger, he’s already turned it into disgust or condescension. His anger becomes a little more socially acceptable, plus then he’s the one who looks like he’s in control.

 

“When was the last time you guys hung out?”

 

“Yesterday, at lunch.”

 

That was with everyone else. “What about before that?”

 

“Well, I went into the _Never_ dorm to hang out with him and some of the other hyungs. That was a few days ago. Things were fine. We just joshed around like we usually do.”

 

Something about Daniel’s voice seems hesitant, so I know I’m on the right track. “What about before that?”

 

He shakes his head.

 

“Was there a time when you were alone?”

 

Daniel’s face does another crunch, then he bursts out laughing. It’s his incredulous laugh—the, _guys, guys, can you believe this_ ” laugh — the primary way he reacts to a shock. Lightbulb moment!

 

“C’mon, hyung. Things are fine with us. How are things between _you_ and—” he tries to find a target, but nothing seems to land, “—Boa?”

 

“I believe that the national producer’s representative and I have nothing to discuss that would concern you. Oh, actually wait.”

 

Daniel looks up expectantly.

 

“Right. We have a meeting in an hour to discuss a very pressing agenda item.”

 

“What? You do?” Daniel’s face has resumed its normal programming—peachy puppy that he is. I’m almost sorry that I have to drop this next bombshell.

 

“Yes. She is very curious about what happened between you and Seongwoo that one time you two were alone.”

 

“Hyung!” Daniel wails, and falls onto his back and covers his face with his arms. The sound of the impact echoes in the studio. I look at the top of Daniel’s head in the mirror. His roots are showing. I want to tell him this but I need him to ’fess up first.

 

“Did you guys fight? Or did you guys make out? Seriously, what in the world happened?”

 

“We didn’t make out,” Daniel’s words are muffled through his sweatshirt.

 

I’m about to ask him what they fought about, when he says in an even more muffled tone, “but we almost did. I think.”

 

Ong is the type of performer who you don’t know much about even if you work with him for a long time. Part of it is that he’s young, and he doesn’t even know himself. That’s fine. I was like that too, at twenty-four. Figuring myself out. A bit of a jerk. Confident beyond my means. And to be fair—I say this because I really can’t have more anti-mail in my inbox—Seongwoo at twenty-four is still way better than I am now at twenty-seven. (There. Happy?)

 

So, like I was saying. I don’t know much about Seongwoo, but I can see this—he’s attached to Daniel because okay, yes, they have a compatible sense of humor and they are fairly matched in skills—but where Daniel is happy, Seongwoo is lacking. Ong treats life like a joke, but his life was probably hard in some way.

 

Gosh, I sound like I’m talking about myself. It takes one to know one, doesn’t it?

 

“Did you want to kiss him?” I make my voice as gentle as possible.

 

“I don’t know.” Daniel moans. “I have no idea about this stuff. Liking a guy and liking a girl are so different.”

 

 _That’s because you’re actually straight as a nail, Daniel._ It’s a bit hard not to roll my eyes. Not that Daniel would be able to tell. His face is buried elbow-deep.

 

Who can blame Ong for falling in love with Daniel? I think everybody falls in love with Daniel at least once—there’s a reason he’s the nation’s King Peach. I hope Korea is ready for taking on the responsibility of what it actually means to love Kang Daniel. Because the dream of love doesn’t last once you get to know a person, ever. Oh, and to all the gays out there—yeah. Kang Daniel is straight. I’m 99.9999% sure about that.

 

Then again, Ong may one in a million.

 

“Ongi is really special to me.”

 

Okay, well that’s that, then. “Like how?”

 

“I like being around him.”

 

Oh, what the hell. We’re living that reality TV show life right now. Anything is possible. Come on, Kang Daniel. Give us a little more.

 

“Like. I’m happy to be around all my friends. And you. Of course.”

 

I hold my breath to make myself as invisible as possible. I don’t need Daniel to be thinking about me or my feelings right now. It seems to work, because Daniel turns over on his side, away from me. I silently encourage him to keep going.

 

“It’s like. I don’t think I want to kiss him. I don’t know. Being around him makes me happy. I know I’m usually happy, but I’m _really_ happy around him. I feel like — this sounds so stupid — I feel like he needs me more than the others do. Sure, the other guys might need an older brother or a leader or a mentor. But I think Ongi needs me for _me_. And that makes me feel like, really good. Like I’m useful. Or something.

 

“And it’s not that I feel useless when I’m not with him. Or that I felt useless before this show. But when we’re together I get this feeling like, oh, maybe there’s a good reason for me to be in the world. Of course people would be sad if I died, or something. But the way Ong is with me, I feel like my heart is somehow all tied up with his. Like he was always supposed to feel this way and I was always supposed to feel the way I do now.”

 

Daniel takes a deep breath, and plunges back in again.

 

“But maybe this isn’t actually great. Because I don’t know if I need him in the same way. And that’s why we didn’t end up kissing that night. Maybe that’s why he always makes some kind of joke. Because I’m—I’m just happy the way I am. And I don’t think Ong wants to disturb that.

 

“It’s different than with girls. With girls, I think—if it doesn’t work out, it’s okay. They’ll find someone else. They’ll be fine without me. I’m not that special to them. Actually, I’m just another guy. But with Ong—I know I’m not just another person.

 

“So I feel trapped. If I kiss him, is he going to think it means everything he wants it to? For me, I want to kiss him if it makes him happy. And it would be fun. But I don’t know if it’s the right thing to do.”

 

Daniel’s voice is shaky. “I want to help Ong. Because I love him. I want to be with him for a long time. But I don’t know if kissing him—and being with him that way—is the right thing to do. Right now.”

 

And with that, Daniel lets out the breath he’s been holding.

 

I’m so proud of him. I want to hug him. I want to tell him it’ll be okay. And that I hurt that he hurts over this.

 

“What do you feel?” I ask instead.

 

“I’m sad,” Daniel answers softly. “And scared.”

 

Love is the best and the worst, isn’t it? Sometimes you’re on the right side of love, and the answers are straightforward. But more often than not, you’re both on the wrong end of things. And it takes a lot of trial and error to figure out the right way to go about it.

 

“You’re not going to tell Boa, are you?” Daniel says. I know he means it as a joke but he really does sound like a little kid. I lean over and kiss the top of his head.

 

“No, darling boy. Your secret is safe with Mama Jisung.”

 

“Mama Jisung,” he croons, and wraps his arms around my torso. “Ah. I’m tired.”

 

Daniel closes his eyes and then I close mine. _Of course you’re tired_ , I want to say to him. _It wears you thin, to think hard about love, when it’s really meant to be felt._  

 

Instead, I say—

 

“Every now and then, we all love things that may or may not love us back. When they do love us in the way we want, it’s the best thing in the world. Tops. Best feeling.

 

“Sometimes though, you have to wait a long time for the flowers to bloom, for them to become the garden you planned. You have to step carefully and cultivate things carefully. But even with your best efforts, a storm can come and wash all the seeds away. Then you have to start again.”

 

We’re both silent. There’s the sound of the aircon running quietly in the background. There’s a vocal lesson in one of the rooms across the hall. I can catch bits and pieces of the song.

 

“I should probably tell Ong some of this stuff, huh.” Daniel mumbles.

 

“Do you think your friendship can endure it?”

 

It’s a real question from me. Daniel sighs.

 

“I guess we’ll see.”

 

 


	7. a priori

 

“Seongwoo—you know you want to.”

 

Of course you want to. You’re a sixteen year old boy with a penchant for making faces. You’re naturally handsome. You’re smarter than your friends. And you’ve seen what they do on television.

 

Of course you want to. But you say, “oh, I don’t know.”

 

The modeling agent is ten centimeters shorter than you. His hair is brushed back and is face is clean with the exception of one pimple on his forehead. He’s dressed in a chambray blue shirt that’s a little too tight across the shoulders and the belly. His belt is from Gucci and his watch is from Fossil. He wears a pair of olive-colored chinos and a pair of limited edition Adidas Stan Smiths with silver foil for the stripes. There’s something nondescript but confident about him. This doesn’t _seem_ like a scam.

 

It’s a Sunday afternoon in late April. One of your girl friends—someone you’re interested in—had wanted to get bubble tea. Her arm in yours, you’d just finished your purchase and accepted the tea from the server when you felt a tap on your shoulder. _Excuse me_ , the nondescript man had said. _Have you modeled before?_

 

The question is so out of the blue. All you had been thinking about was how nice your friend’s calves looked. She’d changed out of her school uniform before she met you, and was wearing a just-sheer-enough white t-shirt tucked into a denim miniskirt. You wondered if she liked you that way. That maybe she did, because she’d put her arm in the crook of yours and when she thought you weren’t looking, she would twirl the end of her ponytail around her finger.

 

Your worries were much simpler then.

 

The man had introduced himself as a casting agent. He said there was a call for extras this coming weekend for an episode of a hospital drama. And that Ong might consider modeling, too.

 

 _But I don’t know anything about hospitals_ , you thought, the same time your friend tugged playfully at your shirt sleeve and said in a sing-song voice, “Seongwoo—you know you want to.”   

 

You take the agent’s business card and slip it into your pocket.

 

Later that night, you meet up with your friends for tteokboki. She tells everyone that _Seongwoo got scouted by a modeling agency_ and you soak up the envious and awed look of your friends and the inevitable questions that follow, _Seongwoo, what are you going to do_? you think that maybe, just maybe.

 

When the sun sets, you walk your friend home. In front of her apartment building, she turns around and gives you a Look that she hasn’t given you before. Your breath catches in your throat. Her lips are parted. You smell the smell of strawberries with sharp clarity. Her chapstick is fresh.

 

She wants you to kiss her.

 

And you do, leaning in, putting your hand gingerly on her waist. She gasps at the touch of your lips on hers and suddenly emboldened, you pull her in closer and bring your other hand up to her hair. You tug the hair tie off her ponytail and her hair comes spilling down around her shoulders. She moans. You switch the angle of your head and deepen the kiss, moving your hand to rest on the small of her back.

 

“Okay, okay,” she says, pushing you away. The smile on her face is somewhere between elated and angry and ashamed. Her lips glisten in the faint light of the setting sun. You did that.

 

“See you tomorrow,” you say dumbly, wondering why you kissed her.

 

 _You know you want to,_ you hear her say, as you walk back home. _You know you want to, Seongwoo._

 

You get home past dinnertime. Not that it matters. You kick off your shoes and on second thought, place them neatly into the shoe cabinet.

 

“Hey ahjussi,” you say to Uncle Butler, who watches you with a stony expression at the other end of the foyer. “Anyone else home?”  

 

Uncle Butler is a distinguished, solemn, and slightly balding man in his late 60s who serves as a personal assistant of sorts to your father. He’s been in the family since he was a young man, apparently, and had worked with your grandfather. You wonder if he’s ever been anywhere besides the house, the Mercedes he drives, and the corporation. It doesn’t look like it. The black shirt and slacks he wears feel pasted onto his body, like he was born wearing them. Same goes for his glasses, which are thin-rimmed metal, and too small for his face. He looks somewhere between a mafia boss and a bureaucrat from the 1920s. You don’t know if you’re scared of him or sorry for him.

 

“Your father is at the office tonight,” Uncle Butler says, looking at you down his long nose. “And your mother has gone out with her friends.”

 

Nothing new.

 

“Would you like anything to eat?” Uncle Butler asks you. You can’t make out the look behind his glasses. You wonder if he pities you. Or feels anything, really.

 

“Already did with some friends,” you say, and head upstairs to your room.

 

The interaction with Uncle Butler has killed the high you were nursing earlier. You flop into your bed and close your eyes, imagining the feel of your friend’s lips against yours. The way she suddenly gave into your grasp, the way she so willingly opened her mouth, the wetness and the heat of it. The way she said, _you know you want to, Seongwoo._

 

Your hand moves down to undo your pants. The material of your school uniform is scratchy, chafing against your knuckles as you squeeze yourself through your briefs and—

 

The edge of the agent’s business card prods you from the inside of your pocket. You groan.

 

Flash forward. You’re wearing a black suit. Black tie. Lights behind you. You’re smiling. A crowd of people outside. You hold up your hand to block the light of the camera flashes. You hear them screaming your name. A helicopter takes off somewhere. You enter the lobby of the hotel. Your shoes make a crisp sound against the marble. You take off your sunglasses. In your room, someone pushes up against you. You back her up against the window. Seoul glitters miles below you like it’s hit with the crest of sunlight on running water. Someone’s hands on your face, someone breathing into your mouth, your ear. She looks like every beautiful girl you’ve seen on a billboard.

 

 _You know you want to, Seongwoo._  

 

You come to the sound of her, all of them, saying your name.

 

 


	8. Reality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All stories end the same way.

 

 

_All these stories end the same way._

 

_You meet. Immediately, you know they’re for you._

 

_Or sometimes it takes you a while to understand, but then in retrospect, you know they were the one all along._

 

_It takes you a little while because there are always misunderstandings, but eventually you confess your love for each other._

 

_Then you get together, and everything’s fine. Great. Everything’s great. Life is smooth and easy-going. There’s a lot of hard work in getting to the dream. But once you get there, you get everything you want._

 

_That’s how it should go. Based on all the dramas you’ve seen. Based on every movie you’ve seen, ever. Based on all the stories you’ve ever read. That’s how it should go._

 

“Hey, Ong.”

 

You look up from your journal. “Oh hey, Niel. What’s up?”

 

“I was wondering if you were free.”

 

“Yeah, I am.”

 

You’re lying on your bunk in the _Hands on Me_ dorm. You’re aware of how you sound. You’re angry at Niel a lot these days. You don’t like it. You don’t like feeling this way.

 

Actually—you’re mad at yourself. If you’re really honest with yourself, you’re mad at Ong Seongwoo and all of his bullshit. You fucked this up.

 

It was a great friendship, and you ruined it with your feelings.

 

It’s on you.

 

There were a few people practicing the song, but at this point the mood in the room shifts and tension fills the air. Jaehwan clears his throat. Jerk.

 

“Well, uh, cool.” Daniel scratches his head. “I’ll be waiting by the stairs when you’re ready.”

 

Presumptuous fool, you seethe under your breath, as your heart begins its steady climb upwards into a high bpm. Calm down. Daniel wants to hang. He probably wants to go get a Gatorade. It _has_ been a while since you last hung out. There’s nothing out of the ordinary here. He probably doesn’t even notice how angry you are.

 

You hop off your bed and put your shoes on quickly. You avoid everyone’s curious gazes. The only one who isn’t looking your way is Minhyun, but that’s because he’s deep in the middle of a nap. Shame. You could have used some sanity. Your shoes aren’t even fitting you correctly right now because you’re so mad. They feel big on your feet. You feel like the clown you are.

 

“How’s it going?” Daniel says, once you clomp outside. You kneel down to tie your laces, avoiding his gaze.

 

“Okay. You know. Tired. How’re you?”

 

“Good.”

 

You sneak a gaze up at Daniel, but he’s already looking at you. His face is a mix of confused and determined. You look away first and curse yourself.

 

“Uh. So.” Daniel mumbles. “Are you hungry? I thought we could go down to the cafeteria.”

 

You’re really not hungry. But you see Daniel trying so hard, and part of you relents. “Yeah. Fine. Let’s go.”

 

The cafeteria is deserted at 3pm. There are a few staff members taking their break before the dinner meal, lounging around on plastic chairs with their feet propped up on cardboard boxes. They’re all engrossed in their mobile phones. It smells vaguely of antiseptic mixed with kimchi in here, and the fluorescent lights paint Daniel a pale shade of blue-green. You are under no delusion that you look any better.

 

Daniel, a friend to the animals and all creatures in his kingdom that he is, asks one of the cafeteria workers whether they can get something to drink, flashing that killer smile. It’s a smile that works on noonas, dongsaengs, and ahjussis alike—this one runs off to the backroom and emerges with two cans of Milkis and a small can of wasabi peas. Daniel accepts the items gratefully and you bow. It’s easier to avoid eye contact with both of them than be confronted with the full impact of Daniel’s charms.

 

He leads you to a table at the far end of the cafeteria, away from the serving areas. It’s not totally secluded, but here at least you have full view of all the entryways and can see anyone who comes.

 

Except Daniel sits down at the far end, facing the entryway, and the only seat left for you is for you to turn your back on the whole room. You sit down, feeling vaguely exposed, your anger slipping into something even less manageable. You hunch over and snap open your bottle of Milkis with a hiss.

 

“So,” Daniel says, opening the can of wasabi peas. “You were supposed to tell me something.”

 

You feel that anger rise again. A sneer does a good job of masking the fear you feel. It’s so quiet in the cafeteria, you can hear your Milkis fizzing away in the can.

 

“You can tell me anything, Ongi.”

 

You want to look him in the eye and laugh at him. No, you can’t. You really can’t.

 

“It won’t hurt me. I promise.”

 

He knows. Ah, he knows. Of course he would know. It’s not like you haven’t been obvious. It’s not like you haven’t dropped hints. Daniel _knows_.

 

You’re embarrassed and scared and ashamed. After all, you had a plan to tell him. You were supposed to tell him, and your courage deserted you. You wanted to forget you had ever said those stupid words in the practice room a month ago. You wanted Daniel to forget. And at the same time, you wanted him to realize everything and to come to you. You wanted to become nothing to him and you wanted to become everything to him.

 

Well, here you are. Daniel is here. With his eyes on you, and only you, you are everything right now. And yet, you are nothing.

 

Somehow, accepting your nothingness gives you the faintest bit of courage to continue. You try a smile. “I’ve ruined the nation’s son with my wayward ways.”

 

Daniel is supposed to be happy. Innocent. What did you really want from him? Ah. You want to make him laugh. You want him to wrap his arms around you. But you’re frozen here, your anger melting into grief as you realize neither of those scenarios is going to happen. You want it to go away. You want to go away.

 

Daniel sits up straighter. “Get it in your head, Ongi. I’m not the nation’s son or King Daniel or any of that. I’m just Daniel. Your friend.”

 

Your hands go bone-cold and your breath leaves your lungs. This is not how you planned things. But this is the way they are. Okay. Fine. Fine.

 

“Ong. Look at me.”

 

You try. You bring yourself to look at Daniel’s face. His lower lip is trembling. His face is pale. He’s scared, too. But his eyes are shining. They’re looking at you. He’s looking at you.

 

“Ong. If you’re not going to tell me, can I guess?”

 

“Don’t.” You want to run away.

 

“I think—” Daniel trembles. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m totally wrong. But I think you like me. That way. And it’s not that I don’t like you, Ongi.” And his face turns tomato red. “I would even, maybe, do that with you.”

 

Option one. You kiss Daniel now.

 

Option two. You don’t. Because Daniel hasn’t finished yet. Your heart is in your throat and at the bottom of the world right now. Because he’s looking away, and because you’re in a cafeteria drinking Milkis and eating wasabi peas with anger and fear in your heart and not on a highway overpass somewhere looking at Seoul shrouded in the lavender pink haze of early dawn.

 

Daniel takes a shuddering breath and continues. “But I don’t know if that’s all you want. I think you want more from me. But I can’t give that to you. And I don’t want to hurt you if you want something more and I’m just—if I just think it’s fun.

 

I’m sorry.”

 

The silence in the cafeteria is the kind that you find at the end of the world. Right now is the end of the world. Some kind of world. You feel the edges of reality slipping away from you. You’re in a place where only you and Daniel exist. Some place out of time and space. His words come to you through some kind of thick miasma. You feel your heart beating ridiculously loud. Your palms are sweaty.

 

“I’m,” you say. Your voice is a shell of itself. “No. I’m the one who is sorry to you.”

 

Daniel reaches across the table and grabs your hands. He clasps them tightly between his. “Don’t be sorry. It’s okay.”

 

It hurts, a little. A lot. Your hands, being gripped by Daniel’s in this way. It’s the first time you’ve held hands and it’s like this. “No, Niel. I let it get out of hand.”

 

Daniel’s face crunches on itself. He struggles for his next words.

 

“Ongi. I love you. Everything about you. Including all this complicated stuff. It’s _our_ stuff. Everything that this is—is you and me. We can still be okay. Because I want to be with you for your whole life. And if this complicated stuff is a part of it, well, that’s a part of it.”

 

You quickly look up at the light to burn away the tears that are suddenly forming in your eyes.

 

“Wherever you go, that’s where I want to be, too. And there are so many things I want to do with you. I want to travel with you. I want to stay up late dancing and singing and making music with you. I want to—I want to sleep in with you. To eat good food with you. To learn popping with you.”

 

You can’t help it. You laugh through your tears. This is not the love confession you expected. It’s not the love confession you planned for.  

 

A part of you says, it’s over. Another part of you says, it’ll be okay. Still another part of you says you’re amazed that you can feel so many contradicting feelings at one time. 

 

Because you want to go wherever Niel is, too. You want to do so many things with Niel, too. You want to travel with him. You want to stay up late dancing and singing and making music with him. You want to sleep in whenever you get the chance. You want to make life hard for the PDs. You want to star on variety shows with him. You want to perform onstage with him all over the world. 

 

You blink your eyes furiously to dislodge your tears. Whatever. Who cares if you cry in front of Niel. Because on his face there are tears, too. He’s still holding your hand, gripping as tightly as one would the edge of a cliff.

 

He’s afraid of losing you.

 

“Niel—” you start, but he shakes his head furiously.

 

“Ongi,” he interrupts. “If you really want to—we can try it if you really want to.”

 

What a stupid, courageous puppy.

 

There are many ways to be with someone. To be in someone’s life. Kissing them is only one of the ways. And what Niel proposed—

 

_I want to be with you for your whole life. And if this complicated stuff is a part of it, well, that’s a part of it._

 

—what Niel proposed is the real thing. And that makes it better than anything you’ve imagined. Literally. Your heart feels like a black hole, sucking all your anger and disappointment and fear away. Leaving you feeling as light as air. Like nothing.

 

“No,” you say, and you smile your own best stupid, courageous smile back. “No, it’s okay.”

 

You close your eyes, his hands in yours and your hands in his. Your palms are warm, sweaty against one another. Your fingers hold on tight. Somehow, the world doesn’t end. Somehow, your heart keeps beating.

 

Somehow, Daniel is still here.

 

_Option 3._

 

_Your hand in his, like this. Raised up, raised down. Raised up, raised down. You bow deeply, blinking the sting of sweat from your eyes. Daniel stands next to you. The crowd is cheering both your names. But that’s not the part that makes you smile._

 

_The sweat drips off Daniel’s hair. You can smell it where you are. It’s mixed with the smell of his soap. There’s something sweet about it, about the coziness of the soap smell with the deafening roar of the crowd before you._

 

_Your teeth are chattering. Your nerves are on fire. His too. His fingers are twined with yours but his grip is so sweaty you feel like your hand is going to pop out of his grasp and fly to the other end of the stadium. So you hang on tight._

 

_Here on stage, both your breath running parched. Your whole world. Your every happiness._

 

“I love you, Niel.” You squeeze his hands again. “And if you don’t get into the final eleven, I’m going to kill you.”

 

He squeezes back. “I love you too, Ongi.”

  


 

________________________

_fin_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank my sister—the first reader and beta extraordinaire who introduced me to the wonderful world of Produce 101 and Wanna One. And I want to give a huge _thank you_ to everyone who has made it all the way to the end.  <3 Last but not least, thank you to everyone who gave me encouraging words along the way and wrote in with reviews and responses. I'm very grateful for the time you put in to give me feedback for my first foray into this fandom. 
> 
> If you want more in the Scientific Methods universe, check out the parallel story [A/B Tests](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12776520/chapters/29152470), which features Lee Daehwi and Kang Dongho—or Double Blind, wherein Kim Jonghyun and Yoo Seonho tie themselves up in knots over the ever-singular Hwang Minhyun.
> 
> If you want to see what happens to Ong and Daniel ten years after the events here, I’ve continued the story in The Sickness Unto Death.
> 
> See you in future fics! ❤️


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